


liberation starts within the mind

by penlex



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Challenge: A.U.gust, Character Study, Coming of Age, M/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 11:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4519731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penlex/pseuds/penlex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey's daemon hasn't settled, but they can fake that just like they can fake everything else about them. (If only it weren't for Ian.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	liberation starts within the mind

**Author's Note:**

> title from Liberation by Ryan Cassata.
> 
> I actually have names and shapes for all the Gallagher and Milkovich daemons, if anyone wants to ask about the ones that aren't mentioned herein (which is most of them tbh). Pictures, names and explanations of mentioned daemons will be at the end.
> 
> Rated for language, themes, and references to abuse.

They’re sitting alone in their room when the idea comes to them. Well, when the idea comes to Mars. That’s their system: Mars comes up with the good ideas and Mickey comes up with the shitty ones. It makes pretty good sense that that’s how it is. After all, your daemon is supposed to be all the best parts of you, right? So it figures that Mars would get the smarts and Mickey’d be left with nothing but stupid. He’s not bitter about it. It helps him fit in his place like he’s supposed to. And it seems like it’s a family trait anyway, for your daemon to be smarter than you. But, hey, maybe that’s just ‘cause all the Milkovich humans do tons of fucking drugs.

“We have to fake it,” Mars says. It’s about four in the morning or some shit. They’re both tired, but it’s no surprise to either of them that they can’t sleep anyway. Tonight they are – or at least Mickey is – blaming it on the bruises across Mickey’s jaw and forearms. Mars had been sprawled across the couch and Mickey’s lap shaped all pretty like a St. Bernard, and Terry and Polly had started in on her again. He’d called her fucking Beethoven while Polly pulled on her ears, and Mickey had sassed Terry back and earned a beating. Terry’s ticked because Mickey’s gonna turn fifteen in a couple months and Mars hasn’t settled yet, and Terry thinks that means Mickey’s some kind of pussy or that he’s touched in the fucking head. Mickey knows better, knows that Mars can’t settle yet because Mickey ain’t ready to be who he is, but to admit that’s the reason is far more dangerous than to let Terry keep thinking Mickey’s weak-minded or whatever.

Now, Mars is curled up on Mickey’s chest as he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling, shaped like what Mickey had been informed snootily was “a _weasel_ not a goddamn ferret, for fuck’s sake” and Mickey knows she’s right. Showing the terrible hand fate decided to fucking deal him is not something Mickey can ever do. Since he ain’t got the guts to bow out of the game all he can do is bluff, and bluff forever.

At Mickey’s nod, Mars slides off of him and off of his bed and tells him, “I’ll try out a few kinds and stick to whichever is most comfortable when we’re in public. And hey, maybe if we’re lucky I’ll just get stuck or something.” They both know she won’t, but they’re lying to everybody else so why not tell themselves something sweet once in a while? (‘Course, it’d be a lot sweeter if either of them could believe it, but oh fucking well.)

Mars tries a chimp first. Primate daemons are another Milkovich family trait, and Terry won’t accept nothing else. She flies through what seems like a hundred forms to Mickey, but he’s not keeping that close track. He’s developed a pretty healthy hatred for monkeys, and he prefers not to look at his own fucking soul imitate one. He’ll suck it up and deal with it for basically the rest of his miserable life, but he’ll put it off as long as possible. Finally, Mars stills and sits quietly, with huge fists curled loosely and pressing against the floor in front of her.

“A fucking gorilla?” Mickey demands incredulously, swinging his legs around to dangle over the floor (he ain’t that fucking short, okay, and he’ll get another growth spurt soon anyway, fuck).

“This one is the best fit,” Mars snaps back, defensive. Mickey holds up his hands in apology. He didn’t mean to offend her or her shape – a shape which sure as fuck don’t deserve no insult. Her fur is thick and a deep black until her waist, where it’s buzzcut short and silvery, and her arms are bigger than Mickey with hourglass curves. She gorgeous of course, always is, but she can’t stay like this.

“You know Terry’ll take it as a threat if you start walkin’ around like that,” Mickey warns her, not without regret. He’d more than love to have a fucking gorilla in his corner. The _real_ king of the fucking jungle. But Mars can’t go around like something that thinks it can beat Terry’s baboon in a fight or they’ll have to put their money down on it, and like Mickey said before: they’ve got shit cards. Mars knows Mickey is right, but she still gives him some soulful eyes for a few moments before she changes again, this time into another black monkey with noodle arms and legs and long floppy fingers. She basically looks like a put-out, skinny chimp with a tiny head and a seriously overdue haircut.

“Another ape?” asks Mickey thoughtfully. In answer, Mars draws back her upper lip to reveal her fucking vampire teeth and says around her grin, “I’m not as cute as I look.”

 

Mars has been holding the form of a black gibbon for more than a year when Mickey lets Gallagher fuck him for the first time. When she can’t take it anymore and has to change into something else, they go to the top of an abandoned building where Mickey has set up a couple shooting targets, and she’s free to leap around and be whatever the fuck she feels like in any given moment. Mickey can tell she’s getting irritated with him. She hates the ruse, and hates even more that she can’t settle for real – hates that they haven’t even got a clue who they really are because the one hint they do have might just as well be a signed and certified death sentence.

Gallagher comes into Mickey’s room one day and they fight and then they fuck and Mars folds her long arms over her knees and snaps her teeth together, and the swan that came in with Gallagher squawks, “what an idiot” from her still grey beak. Terry and Polly come through some minutes later, Polly lounging across Terry’s shoulders like he’s a tree. She bares her teeth and that horrible sound comes out of her throat, and she makes grabby hands at the bitchy swan. The swan, to her credit, holds her head up proud on her long neck and maintains eye contact with the baboon, but once Polly is gone she shoots Mars a distrustful look and nervously ruffles her brown-spotted feathers. She and Ian fuck off without further ado.

Not that they can be blamed, really. Mickey and Mars high tail it out of there too.

On the roof of their place, while Mickey shoots holes through cardboard terrorists, Mars sits regally to the side, her sandy tail sweeping back and forth with her annoyance, her black-rimmed eyes steady on her human.

“This is right,” she tells him, casual and cool, her voice rumbling and rolling out of her, half purr and half growl. “It’s going to be a cat.”

“Ironic,” snorts Mickey, without mirth. Then he tells her to change. If she ever settles now, they’re dead.

 

“So you and your little bird ain’t afraid of monkeys, eh, Gryffindor?” Mickey asks Ian one day. Why in the fuck Mickey ever let them start hanging out after fucking, and why in the fuck he let Ian’s name take up space in his head, Mickey doesn’t know. The trend holds true, though – it was a stupid idea, and Mars told him so. Too late now though, because neither one of them is gonna give this up any time soon. Ian, from where he’s lying half naked on his back on the roof, grins widely up at him. The kid’s stupid freckles are bright in the sun. He’ll get a burn, and he’ll complain about it, but Mickey ain’t gonna tell him to put a shirt on. He can take some whining for this view.

“Kallie’s not exactly a _little_ bird,” Ian argues, mostly just to be the contrary fucking shit-talker that he is, “but I’m flattered at the new nickname.” He doesn’t answer the question, which ain’t nothing unusual. That’s okay, though. Mickey’s afraid of monkeys enough for both of them, if Ian’s stupid enough to not be. They lapse into silence again, both them and their daemons not touching but close enough that they could if they wanted to.

Mickey wants to.

 

Nearly two years pass. Ian and Kalliope have both grown out of the whole ugly duckling thing. Ian is tall and buff and short-haired, and Kalliope has shed all her dull feathers and replaced them with bright white ones. Mickey has been to juvie twice and Ian is fucking other guys. Mars will sometimes pull out a handful of hair from Mickey’s head when he hasn’t let her change in too long. She wants to show Ian and Kalliope that she still can, but Mickey says no way. Every time they go to their spot on that roof by themselves, Mars always takes a feline form and there’s nothing Mickey can say that will stop her. His heart is perpetually racing, but he can’t tell what he’s afraid of anymore. Is it Terry or Ian? Every now and then, it’s Mars – and Mickey doesn’t need anybody to tell him how fucked up that is.

Right now, Mars is ticked off, as usual. She’s shaped like a goddamn Persian house cat, delicate and pretty, and prissily grooming herself and not deigning to grace Mickey with her fucking crystalline blue eyeballs except to give him a terribly done innocent look. Her meow is high pitched and sweet, and Mickey might as well just jump right off this building if she settles like that. With a frustrated huff Mickey folds his arms and turns away from her. Two can play the passive aggressive game. Mars wants to throw around a cold shoulder, a cold shoulder is what she’ll get.

“Hey,” says Ian from the doorway, and Mickey’s heart stops. He glances over his shoulder and is relieved to see the ape that he and Mars have both come to resent. He lets himself breathe again.

“Hey,” he says back. Ian must sense the tension between Mickey and Mars because he stays silent for long moments, and he’s almost never silent once he figures he has something to say. Eventually, though, he must decide that whatever bullshit he’s holding onto can’t wait for the two of them to make up (which is fair as neither of them has even moved since he came in).

“You wanna help me build an obstacle course up here?” he asks. Mickey chews on his lip. He shouldn’t. He should tell Ian to fuck off. He should tell Ian he meant it when he said Ian was nothing but a warm mouth, even though he didn’t and he regretted it a soon as he said it, and he knows it hit Ian where it hurts. That’s what he should do.

Instead, he tells Ian with a shrug, “Ain’t got nothin’ better to do.”

 

“He’s not afraid to kiss me,” Ian says calmly after Mickey fucking shoots at him, and Mickey asked for it. Mars shows Mickey her teeth again. It’s terrifying.

 

They fuck five more times, in between the before and the after. While Ian’s distracted (and arguably, so is Mickey) Mickey can feel Mars shift. In the quiet afterglow, Ian’s eyes closed and his face buried in the back of Mickey’s neck so that Mickey can feel his eyelashes flutter, Mickey opens his eyes and looks over to see that Mars has changed into a cheetah. She’s purring, and licking Kallie’s neck with wide sweeps of her purple-pink tongue. Kallie is resting her chin contentedly on top of Mars’s spotted head, and one beady black bird eye is staring right at Mickey. If a swan could raise an eyebrow, he is certain that she would have. The next four times Mickey and Ian fuck, Mickey opens his eyes to see Mars as a different kind of cat, always cuddling with Kallie, Kallie looking at him.

 

So that’s the before, then. The after happens a lot more quickly, and at one of the least opportune moments it could have. It’s Mickey’s decision that does it, of course, but in this particular instance Mickey doesn’t think Mars would have made a better one. Ian has asked him to rob his grandpa/boyfriend’s house and Mickey hates it.

Don’t get him wrong – he loves that Ian thought of him, loves that Ian thinks he can get a job done well for him ~~(loves Ian)~~. But he hates that maybe Ian might think that all Mickey is is a thug who can be tough and steal shit and rough people up. Which of course is not to say that Mickey can’t, won’t, or doesn’t want to do those things; he can, he will, and he does. But right now Mickey kind of feels… two dimensional. He thought Ian knew him better (not that Mickey can blame him if he doesn’t), knew that there was more (is there? is there more?). The masks Mickey and Mars wear have always felt shitty, but before they had never really gotten a taste of what it might be like to take all that shit off and just walk around in their own skin.

And on top of that, Mickey’s jealous as fuck.

It all adds up to Mickey not thinking about the consequences before he acts. Mars doesn’t interrupt him as he jumps back up into the van and plants one right on Ian’s mouth when the redhead turns to look at him. It’s just a closed-mouthed thing, the chastest they’ve ever been with each other, but it’s warm and soft and sweet and it makes Mickey feel good – about Ian, about what they’re doing together, about himself. He can do this. He can be with Ian if he wants to. He can be somebody’s fucking boyfriend, and neither one of them has to be a girl.

One of Ian’s big hands comes up to rest on the back of Mickey’s sensitive neck, the grip of his fingers just the barest shade too tight, a gentle contrast to the cushy touch of their lips. He makes a quiet sound, awed almost, and Mickey echoes it, presses in more firmly. Ian’s mouth moves, just a little, hesitates, and then opens just enough to let the tip of his tongue out to brush Mickey’s lower lip. Mickey’s considering copying that too when he hears it.

Purring. Loud, obnoxious, rumbly purring.

Mickey looks down to see Mars as a large cat sitting in the passenger side, looking besottedly back and forth between Mickey and Ian. Kallie gives an excited honk from her spot in the footwell behind the driver’s seat and flaps up to the center console and starts chewing gently at the fur around Mars’s wide ears. Mars’s sharp green eyes close to blissful slits as she pushes her head towards Kallie’s grooming beak.

“Oh,” says Ian, and when Mickey glances up at him he’s staring, rude and wide-eyed, at Mars like he’s never seen a cat before in his life. Mickey finds he doesn’t mind much (or at all). Instead of saying anything about Ian’s tactlessness, Mickey drops a hand down on top of Mars’s head, preventing any more of Kallie’s ministrations which are giving Mars some terrible cowlicks, and scratches her behind the ears and one slow sweep down her back. He likes the way his tattoos look over her black and brown fur.

“Alright,” he tells her more fondly than he had intended. “You showed him. Now change back before somebody else sees.” Mars turns her head up to look at him with her new piercing gaze, and he knows before she speaks. She just looks so smug.

“Can’t,” she chirps cheerfully, and her purring gets louder. “This is it. This is us.”

There is an endless pause in which Mickey stops breathing, in which – at first – he doesn’t fully understand, in which fear and anger builds in him until he’s certain he is going to explode. He wishes desperately that there was something within reach that he could break into a million pieces and then stomp on, or that he was in a place where it would be safe for him to scream.

“Now?” he demands, finally. “You had to do it right now? You couldn’t wait?” Mars stands and her claws unsheathe and dig into the leather of the seat, her eyes flash, her teeth show, her fur all stands up, her ears press back against her tiny skull. Mickey is expecting that sickening fear by now, waits for it, and worse – waits for Ian to see it in him, for Ian to know that Mickey is such a fucking coward that he’s afraid of himself – but it doesn’t come.

“You’re the one who decided _right now_ , you prick,” Mars hisses, and Mickey feels chastised and somewhat guilty, but not frightened. He feels like he wants to touch her, or give her a compliment or something, like he’s missed her even though of course there’s never been a second that she’s been absent from him. Mickey can feel the rightness of it when Mars rolls her green eyes away from him and says to Kallie, “I’ve been ready forever.” Kallie fluffs her feathers haughtily and replies with disdain, “ _humans_.” She’s not wrong of course.

Mickey’s always known how impatient she is (how impatient Ian is), and he’s kept her waiting.

 

They abandon the job. Mickey’s brothers have done this kind of deal a million and one times before and they can handle it by themselves. They’ll call Mickey when they’re done and find the empty van and he’ll give them instructions and if they ask questions he’ll tell them to fuck off and they will without too much of a fuss, more concerned with the loot. Iggy at least probably already knows about Mickey and Ian anyway, when Mickey can chill out a little bit and think about it. Mel, Iggy’s daemon, she’s a bonobo, and she’s always cluing Iggy in on who’s DTF, and far as Mickey knows she ain’t never missed nobody and she ain’t never been wrong. Mickey’s still alive, so that means Iggy hasn’t told, which means he won’t.

They walk back to Ian’s house and Ian bribes Mickey with a blowjob for every minute of peace and quiet to help him wrangle the gazillion kids that are there for god knows what fucking reason. Once they’re stationary most of them fall asleep, and when that’s done Ian sends Debbie and Carl upstairs to entertain themselves. Surprisingly, they go without argument, though their daemons linger curiously on the stairs for as long as they’re able. A Milkovich with a cat in his arms must make a pretty interesting sight.

They make food. They hang out. They put on a movie that they stare through. Ian kisses Mickey again, abruptly, on the corner of the mouth, like he’s been working up to it because he wasn’t sure if it was allowed now or if the time in the van was a once in a lifetime thing or some shit. Mickey’s heart is racing about it. They’re behind a closed and locked door on private property, but it still feels so fucking public to him. But Mickey looks around and all those thousands of brats are still sleeping and there’s nobody on the stairs, so he turns and kisses Ian back. They make out on the couch like teenagers in a movie nobody they know would ever see.

They get maybe ten minutes to themselves before the social worker knocks on the door. She has a clipboard and thick glasses and a curious beagle daemon, and Ian smiles at her brightly and Mickey stays on the couch and Mars acts shy.

Ian bullshits like a pro. He’s babysitting. It’s a fun way to make some extra money while his parents and sister are at work. He loves kids, and they’re all so well-behaved. Their parents are all so nice. He makes eight bucks an hour per kid, and he only does it three times a week, and he makes sure he doesn’t take more than six kids unless he’ll have help. Who’s that helping him today? That’s his boyfriend. He’s really sweet. He doesn’t like kids as much, but he doesn’t mind helping Ian. He makes a mean PB&J but he’s helpless when it comes to mac & cheese, but that’s okay because they delegate. Isn’t his daemon so pretty? She’s sweet too. (That all rankles, but Mickey sits on his hands and bites his tongue. He knows you don’t fuck with somebody else’s family over nothing.) The social worker and her beagle are ready to eat right out of Ian’s hand by the time she’s gone all the way through her checklist, and so is Mickey. When she’s gone Ian sags against the door he shut behind her, and Kallie stomps her feet agitatedly.

“Unannounced?” Mickey asks while Mars climbs from his lap over his shoulder and onto the back of the couch to regard Ian with her tail curling toward the floor. Ian sighs.

“Yeah,” he says. Kallie stomps some more. Mickey wonders if that’s a bird thing, or just her.

“Beer?” he asks, and Ian laughs.

“Yeah.” Mickey gets up from the couch as Ian flops back down onto it. The Gallagher house is small enough that Mickey can go to the fridge and Mars can stay where she is if she likes without too much discomfort. Usually, she follows hot on his heels no matter how far or close he’ll be, but not today. Today she sits above and behind Ian and locks her eyes on him and the swan on his lap like they’re good enough to eat. So it is that as Mickey pops open a beer for himself and a beer for his boyfriend, he hears Ian speak to Mickey’s daemon. (Mickey could say he was shocked about it, but in reality he’s sure that Ian has never followed a single rule in his whole god damned life. It probably ain’t nothing less than a miracle that the ballsy motherfucker hasn’t touched Mars yet.)

“You’re not a housecat, are you?” Ian wonders, and Mickey peers around the kitchen doorway in time to see Mars give him a look like he’s the biggest idiot she’s ever laid eyes on.

“Wild, obviously,” she tells him, her voice sounding just like her face looked. She seems perfectly unperturbed to be spoken to. Ian grins up at her from where he’s let his head fall back so that it rests not too far from her paws. He agrees with a smitten sigh, “Yeah. You’re not as cute as you look.”

Mars licks her teeth, and preens.

**Author's Note:**

> Mars's name is actually Marina, which according to behindthename.com is the feminine form of Marinus, which is derived from Marius, which is derived from Mars, who is the Roman god of war and masculinity. She eventually settles as a [Scottish Wildcat](http://www.abielphinstone.com/communities/3/004/012/955/823/images/4619254148.jpg), which I chose because of the housecat look paired with the big cat walk and talk. Previous to that she takes forms as a [St. Bernard](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3a/St_Bernard_Dog.jpg), a [weasel](http://s3.zoochat.com.s3.amazonaws.com/large/least_weasel-148215.jpg), a [gorilla](http://norfolkbirding.com/Gorilla-Silverback-7.jpg), a black [gibbon](http://i.imgur.com/Q1rSyMU.jpg), a [cougar](http://i.huffpost.com/gen/1164972/images/o-COUGAR-facebook.jpg), a [Persian housecat](http://treasuredkittens.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/lillyb.jpg), and a [cheetah](http://s3.thingpic.com/images/Zg/pT3G4d43jG5DjkPB9ASzA9a5.jpeg). Fun fact: the cougar is the largest cat that can still purr, so a cougar is the largest cat that Mars ever took the shape of uwu.
> 
> Kalliope is a name that means "beautiful voice" and was one of the nine Greek Muses. I chose a [swan](http://img10.deviantart.net/69c7/i/2011/102/5/e/swan_spreading_wings_4_by_lubellemanipulation-d3dt1qp.jpg) for her because of the outward grace, confidence, and beauty that everyone knows and appreciates but that hides anxiety/depression problems and a hell of a temper. And if you were confused about Kallie being grey and brown in her first scene, here is what an [adolescent swan](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LByXmYhLTdA/SQxIt9E2u0I/AAAAAAAABpA/Dskxg_zOQdc/s400/Cygnet.JPG) looks like.
> 
> Terry's daemon is a [chacma baboon](http://jumpstone.files.wordpress.com/2013/07/baboon-male-4-cropped.jpg), and her name is Apollinariya, a Russian and/or Ukrainian feminine version of Apollinaris, which is derived from Apollo, which has many associated meanings including "strength", "father light", and "to destroy". As many of you know, Apollo also is the Greek sun god.
> 
> Mandy has an [Aye-Aye lemur](http://cx.aos.ask.com/question/aq/700px-394px/why-are-aye-ayes-endangered_412d73db0cc69235.jpg) named Artem, which is a Ukrainian and/or Belarusian form of Artemios, which is derived from Artemis, which has the possibly conflicting meanings of "safe" and "a butcher". Artemis is the Greek goddess of the hunt. The Aye-Aye is believed to be an omen of death because of its super long middle fingers and fearlessness of humans, and as such is actively hunted. In actuality they're just antisocial insectivores.
> 
> Iggy's [bonobo](http://www.awf.org/sites/default/files/media/gallery/wildlife/Bonobo/620065_CYRIL%20RUOSO.jpg?itok=8W9zuAbi) is named Melete, also after a Greek Muse, and is called Mel for short. I picked a bonobo for him because it's chill af, but still not to be fucked with as an ape yikes.
> 
> My headcanons for the Gallaghers, Kev, and V are [here](http://redblooded-disadvantage.tumblr.com/post/126157586825/hello-yes-i-just-read-your-liberation-fic-and-i) on my tumblr if you're interested.


End file.
